Forgotten Works of the Imperial Archives
by Althea SaDiablo
Summary: Herein are chronicled various forgotten fragments and short tales found in the Imperial archives. Chronicle the twenty-second: an incident during the career of Ou Ki, concerning the sixth son of the Emperor Senka.
1. Sword and Flower

Author's Note: This particular story set is going to be an assorted collection of Saiunkoku ficlets that I've written, that don't particularly fit anywhere else. Some will be canon, some not; and likewise their subject matter and main characters will differ according to the idle whims that inspired them. This one was written, ironically, just before someone posted a summary of Saiunkoku book 11 on the livejournal community. So it's been made somewhat irrelevant by canon. Or perhaps it has been codified by canon. It's hard for me to say as of yet.

* * *

The Emperor's gaze was steady and unyielding, and it pierced Shuuei through to his very core. "We will do our best to make sure you never have to choose between your family and us," he said. "But we doubt that your family will do us the same courtesy."

"Your Majesty," for once Shuuei was at a loss for words; the inscribed hilt of his sword dug into his palm. "I don't-- that is, I can't--"

"Sou Taifu once told us, 'never enter a fight unless you know you're going to win.'" Ryuuki turned his burning eyes over the pond, and it took all of Shuuei's discipline not to sag in relief. "We will think about what you said."

Shuuei bowed low and left the garden. The sword the Emperor had gifted him with had never felt so heavy. He unclenched his hand from the guard and raised it in front of his face: the inscribed iris pattern was imprinted on his skin. A flower, a symbol of absolute trust-- but trust, like a flower, was a delicate thing.


	2. Sunrise

Author's Note: keeps screwing up my formatting; I apologize for the lack of dividers between note and text in the previous section. Maybe it will actually work this time, hope springs eternal. Anyway, this is a random snippet of nothing. Shou is On Something. Probably something illegal. An unpleasant start to the new Emperor's first day on the job. You probably shouldn't have been up drinking with Shouka so late, Ryuuki . . .

* * *

"Wake up, Your Majesty!" 

Ryuuki groaned and levered one eyelid open. The weak dawn sunlight streaming through the eastern window showed him a foggy vision of Shou Taishi's wrinkled, bearded face.

_I must still be dreaming_, Ryuuki thought muzzily, and closed the eye again. _No more manjuu just before bed. Or maybe no more alcohol just before bed._

"Come, Your Majesty!" That rumbling voice was disgustingly cheerful and Ryuuki groaned. He wasn't dreaming; he was having a nightmare. "Since the Emperor is like the sun to his people, ordering their days and lending brilliant luster to their world, it stands to reason that the Emperor should rise when the sun does!"

"I'm not the Emperor," Ryuuki mumbled. "Not yet."

"Your coronation is this afternoon, Your Majesty. You must be ready."

"Go 'way." The inside of Ryuuki's mouth felt fuzzy and foul, as if some small animal had curled up and died inside. "Lemme _sleep_."

"Is that an order, Your Majesty?"

The arch tone of voice cut through his head like a saw through green wood. "_Yes_, dammit."

"As my Emperor commands," Shou Taishi said, sounding far too energetic and pleased with himself.

Ryuuki buried his head under the pillow, trying to block out the painful morning light. At least it was quiet; it was sufficiently early that no one in the residential wing of the palace was awake and moving around yet. Slowly, he drifted back towards the gentle fog of oblivion . . .

"Rise and shine, Your Majesty!"

Ryuuki groaned. "Didn't I order you to _go away_?"

"You did, indeed. Your Majesty neglected to say for how long, though. Come!"


	3. Pandora's Box

**Author's Note:** I forgot that FF dot net also won't let you put websites in your posts. So complicated . . . sorry about that last author's note. But at least I got the divider to stay in this time, huzzah! Eventually I'll manage to post one of these things without any errors at all. Could today be that day? Could this author's note be any more random?

* * *

**xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx**

She was cleaning in one of the storerooms when she discovered it: a simple wooden box, not locked, stashed unremarkably on a low shelf. She opened it out of idle curiosity, curiosity that sharpened when she saw the rich settings of the scrolls inside.

Shouka came across her later, sitting at the table. Partially unfurled missives and portraits were strewn haphazardly across its surface. Shuurei was staring into space, though her eyes focused on him when he sat down across from her. "So you've found them."

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was no bite to the question, no anger.

"For many reasons. Because it would have bothered you. Because you weren't at a stage in your life where you were ready to think about marriage. Because you might have accepted one of them for what political gain it could bring you."

"Is that wrong? I always thought I would make a political marriage some day, when I reached the point where I couldn't rise higher on my own."

"And perhaps you will. But having married for love myself, seeing you trapped in a marriage without it is not a fate I would choose for you. As long as it's in my power, I would spare you that."

"There are so many." Her hands moved over the letters aimlessly, shifting their edges. "I didn't think there could ever possibly be so many."

"Is it so surprising? You are the eldest daughter of the Kou clan. You're talented and accomplished. You passed the exams as Tanka, you have been governor to Sa Province, and you bear the Emperor's trust and favor."

Her hand lifted to the hairpin she wore, but dropped without touching it. "No one said anything. Even Ryuuren- no one _told_ me."

"A very good point indeed." Shouka tapped the heading on one of the letters. "No matter how serious the offer, all of these are addressed to the head of the Kou family, or to me. However, the head of the clan and I have agreed: who you will marry is your decision, not ours. So it isn't our business to accept these proposals. But has any man asked _you_?"

**xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx**


	4. Hide and Seek

Author's Note: Because Ryuuki must have been occupying himself somehow during the time he was slacking off. And he's certainly proven himself to be freakishly observant when he wants to be.

* * *

The sound of bad-tempered muttering drew Ryuuki's attention from the scroll he was examining. He peeked surreptitiously around the trunk of the tree he was leaning against to identify the source. Sure enough, Li Kouyuu was stomping down the path that ran through the garden for the third time, a crumpled paper clenched in one hand and a decidedly ill-tempered look on his face.

The delinquent Emperor sighed, then stood up and tucked the scroll into his sleeve as he walked over to the building that flanked one side of the garden. Leaning through an open window, he flagged down a passing servant. The man blanched slightly when he saw who was beckoning him over, but his bow was perfectly proper despite the irregularity of having his king hanging through a window like a ten-year-old and waving at him.

"Li Kouyuu is lost again," Ryuuki said, not bothering with any preamble. "We believe he's trying to get to the archives. If you were to head through the gardens soon, you would most likely encounter him."

The man nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Ryuuki paused, then added, "Li Kouyuu is a very proud and temperamental man, as you are doubtless aware."

The servant blinked, and realization dawned in his eyes. His bow this time was deeper. "I understand. As Your Majesty wishes."

Ryuuki nodded, and pulled himself back through the window to look for a new hiding place.


	5. Succession

Author's Note: The concept of kingship not merely as a title, but as an actual spiritual _thing_, one that posesses the ruler, is one that I find fascinating. And other people besides me need to write Saiunkoku fic, seriously.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

* * *

"Aniue," the word was a sad, thin whisper across a vast distance, hopeless and despairing. "Where did you go? Aniue-- aniue--" 

He could see a small, hunched figure in pale lavender, a head of ragged pale hair resting on drawn-up knees. Everything else was featureless darkness. "I'm here," he tried to say, but the vast nothing swallowed his voice. "I'm here!"

"Where did you go? Why did you leave me? Is it because I was bad? I won't be bad anymore, just come back . . . please come back, aniue . . ."

He tried to run forward but something was holding him back; the boy grew no closer. "I can't reach you! I'm here, I just can't get to you--"

There was an ominous prickle to the air, a gathering of energies. "I'm so lonely," the small voice whispered. "All alone . . ."

Golden points stabbed through the darkness around the boy. He tried to shout a warning as the points grew upward, caging the small body in their center, but his voice wouldn't carry. They weren't bars, he realized, horrified, they were massive talons, rising around the child--

He tried desperately to tear himself free of whatever was holding him back, forcing his legs to carry him forward. "Look out! They're all around you, look out-- _Ryuuki_!"

The boy's head came up and turned towards him, but the wide golden eyes were unfocused; they did not see him. The sharp talons were closing around the child, rising from fingers roughly scaled in gold. An arm as thick as a tree trunk lifted underneath, attached to a great golden body. He could no longer see the boy as the monstrous creature cradled its claw against its chest jealously. A massive draconic head lowered towards him, bearded in purple and gold, and a rolling molten eye glared at him from under a heavy, scaled brow. A snort of humid air sent him stumbling backwards, and the sinuous body rumbled like thunder as it snaked upwards with his brother in its claws. "Ryuuki! _Ryuu_--"

Seiran exploded upwards from his bed, his hand reaching out after nothing, the name he never allowed himself to say dying on his lips. He blinked in the faint moonlight that seeped through his window, the dark bulks of his meager furniture slowly resolving into their familiar shapes. His sleep-clouded mind groped for understanding: had something woken him?

The sound came again, deep and faint, muted by distance. But it was late spring, too early for thunder-- and come to think of it there was a hint of deep, sad music to that tone . . .

He slipped out of bed, the floor cold against his bare feet, and went out onto the porch that fronted the garden. The Master stood outside his own room, and Shuurei with him. He had one arm around her shoulders, and Seiran went to join them as the bone-vibrating knell came again, and again. Together they looked across the bare garden. Beyond the trees and the wall and the houses that separated them, Seiran could see the red bulk of the palace in his mind's eye, and the Tower of the Sages with its deep-throated bell that was only ever rung on one occasion.

"The Emperor is dead," Shouka said quietly, and hugged Shuurei close to his side.


	6. Simple Gifts

Author's Note: Why is there not more OTP shininess?

* * *

"--I'm so happy," she said, feeling her eyes fill and threaten to overflow as she clutched the branch.

His eyes, intent on her reaction, went soft. It was an expression she was learning to recognize; no surprise, then, when he began to lean down. He moved slowly, so there was plenty of time-- time to raise her head just enough, time to angle her face just slightly, time to catch a quick breath. Time even to close her eyes before his lips brushed against hers, fully as soft as his eyes had been.

It was such a small thing that he wanted, after all. Such a small thing in return for everything he'd done, for his inept but thoughtful gifts, and now this-- for bringing life to what was long dead, such a small thing--

His hands were on her shoulders when he pulled back, smiling, completely oblivious to the audience of shocked faces that ringed the table behind him--

--wait, it wasn't a small thing at all!


	7. Childhood

Author's Note: Since this will be "jossed" as soon as someone posts an English summary of the latest Saiunkoku Gaiden, I thought I'd better put it up. Three short snippets, written for a random three things meme on my livejournal. It is possible that my brain is imbibing in various illegal substances without informing the rest of me, because I don't know how else to describe some of the things it gets up to.

* * *

"Who took my comb?"

"Just look at this mess!"

"What do you _mean_ my shoes have been glued to the ceiling?"

"Ow! Who left that in the middle of the floor?"

"All right, who put raw eggs under all the seat cushions?"

"I don't know who clogged the drains with our family history, but it is _not funny_!"

"AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!! WHAT IS THAT THING?!!"

"You're kidding me, _everyone's_ underwear is hanging out in the orchard?"

What he _really_ hated about Reishin, Kurou thought as he scrubbed at the makeup painted all over the wall of his mother's room, was that he _always got away with it_.

* * *

"Reishin? Where is that boy? REEEEEIIIIISHIIIIN!!"

From where he rested at the top of the high doorway, feet braced against one side of the door frame and back against the other, Reishin suppressed as snigger as his father walked directly beneath him. They never did think to look up.

* * *

"REISHIN! What do you think you're _doing_?! Get out of the moat and put your clothes back on this instant!"

Reishin was only taken to visit the palace once as a child, with good reason.


	8. Bird in Flight

Author's Note: Interestingly, the relationship between Shuurei and Sakujun hearkens back, in a way, to the story of the Rose Princess . . . although Sakujun being Sakujun adds an extra layer of twisted. Sociopath. ::mutter::

* * *

"I want to keep you beside me always. I want you to play only for me."

_Shuurei isn't meant to be a caged bird._ Ryuuren's voice drifted through her mind. "Isn't that selfish? A person isn't a pet, to be ordered around."

"I won't make you play. You can play when you want, as long as you play for just me. You can do anything you want as long as I'm beside you. I love you, so I will never let you leave me."

_I don't want Shuurei to be a bird in a cage._ In her memory, the faint words were carried on a breath of wind, so soft and sad they almost didn't reach her ears. "You can't cling to someone that way," she said. "You can't keep a person like a prisoner in chains. That isn't love."

He angled his chin where it rested in his hand. "Really?" he said. "How do you know?"


	9. Daydreams

Author's note: I have . . . absolutely nothing to say. Except that I need to write more of these, I'm starting to run out. Hm. Well, I have more ideas, I should just hurry up and write them . . . maybe I'll post brief bits of my other projects as "teasers" . . . kind of like movie trailers. What do you think? Good idea, bad idea?

* * *

Actually, Shuurei likes children a great deal. She's always been around them-- first her playmates when she was a child herself, later her students at the school. Now that she's living her dream of being an official, she's too busy for her old haunts, and sometimes she misses hearing their eager, piping voices. The royal palace is a world of adults, and there are no longer any children within its walls.

On the rare occasions when she's considered it, she's thought that she would like to have children herself some day. Her imagination lends animation to the idle fantasy, and sometimes she can see them: children happily chasing each other through a garden, long hair as dark as hers streaming behind them, high laughter brightening the air.

When the children stop their games and turn towards her with hopeful golden eyes, though, she quickly recalls her thoughts to present matters.


	10. Poetry

Author's Note: My writing tends to be very Ryuuki-centric, I'm quite aware of this. Which is not to say that Saiunkoku doesn't have a multitude of interesting characters with potential to be explored, merely that that's how my ideas come to me. This collection, at least, has a little more variety than my other Saiunkoku writing.

* * *

"The hell is this!"

Shuuei handily caught the book and thought that spending time with Kouyuu was good practice for his reflexes. "It's poetry. Haven't you seen poetry before?"

"Of course I've seen poetry! I passed the exams, didn't I?" He jabbed a finger at the accusing volume. "_That_ is _not_ poetry!"

"Aaaaah, but it is poetry. There are different kinds of poetry, didn't you know that? This is love poetry."

"It's _disgusting_!"

"Nonsense, you just haven't read the right one." Shuuei opened the book and thumbed through the pages. "Here, how about this one? 'Blessed be the first sweet agony I felt when I found myself bound to Love, and blessed be the--'"

"I am _leaving_," said Kouyuu, and did.


	11. Beauty

Author's Note: this was written in response to a meme I posted on my livejournal. I don't think I ever finished said meme, I'm not very good about that kind of thing, however it did result in numerous of the snippets that have been posted in Forgotten Works. That being the case, I'll have to do it again sometime. This story was inspired by a detail from either the Belgariad or the Mallorean (I forget which contained said detail), by David Eddings.

* * *

Kijin's mother possessed a luminous, arresting beauty. She was also blind from birth; she didn't know what she looked like. For that matter, she didn't know what her son looked like either.

She caught one of the various plagues that periodically sweeps through the capital, a deadly pox. She survived it; her beauty did not. She's much older now, of course, and Kijin is one of her few visitors. After all, he knows very well the value of physical beauty: she was the one who taught it to him.


	12. The Trap, Closing

Author's Note: This was inspired by and written to accompany a scene in volume one of the manga. It's been sitting in my head for a small forever. Thanks much to Vampire Knight for the scanlations. Ye gods, is this my last one? No, wait, I have another one, I just need to finish writing it. Phew. Saved for another month . . .

* * *

"Oh," Shuurei said, faintly startled, "you seem to know quite a bit."

Ryuuki slid a glance at her and didn't reply, taking in the work-roughened hands that were such a contrast to the smooth silks she wore with faint, unaffected and appealing self-consciousness. The dark hair caught in the ornate and heavy style of a court lady, which she was obviously unaccustomed to. Her fresh young face, not beautiful, but so very open with its wide, clear eyes. _A trap,_ he told himself wearily, _one of that old man's traps_. A lovely, unknowing trap, baited with her innocence and left in his path where he could not help but stumble across her.

Sadness was in her eyes as she looked out the window, a private grief that tugged at the loneliness in his own heart. Beyond the glass, petals were falling like snow, loosened by the wind. "The weather is beautiful today," she said, her voice bravely uninflected. "Do you want to have some tea outside again? I'd like to tell you a story about cherry blossoms."

He hesitated, and his gaze went to the faint crease in her brow, the line of her mouth, the clouds that gathered softly behind her eyes. Knowledge ached inside him, but he nodded wordlessly, and stepped with open eyes to meet his fate.

_Caught_, he knew, as the urge to take her in his arms became a need, as she pulled his sorrow from him and joined it to her own. _I'm already caught._


	13. The Unseen Hand

Author's Note: This was written for the "Hero" prompt on the saiun(underbar)challenge livejournal community. Do stop by and join us if you're so inclined, we could use more writers! It's also a great place to get your weekly dose of Saiunkoku fic. Anyway, this story went with the prompt in my head, but out in the world? Well, who knows? There are many stories in Saiunkoku that the present cast isn't aware of at all, and many, many secrets . . .

* * *

Ryuuki had started drinking before Seiran arrived, but Seiran quickly caught up with, and then surpassed his younger brother and Emperor. Ryuuki was not laughing or attempting any histrionics tonight-- he was serious, withdrawn, looking over the moonlit garden with eyes that saw something completely different-- or perhaps not so different. There was something strange in the atmosphere, a faint, oppressive tension that hung around Ryuuki. Seiran could always tell when something was troubling him, but that didn't mean that he knew what it was.

Nor was Ryuuki particularly forthcoming with the information-- not until they'd made significant progress on the wine Ryuuki had brought, and Seiran knew that Ryuuki was approaching that edge where his conversation stopped making sense. But he wasn't there yet, because he stopped staring into the pond and raised his eyes to meet Seiran's, and his face was serious.

"I wanted to ask you," he said, "for a long time, but I . . . Aniue." He set the clay jug down on the table, carefully, and pulled his hands back into his lap. "Did you kill my mother?"

"I . . ." It was not an expected question, it was not an unexpected question. But it was a question that brought the past to join the present, and Seiran could see the garden that Ryuuki saw. Behind the Emperor's eyes was a frightened, vulnerable child, who had once longed so desperately for a love that was never given. Seiran looked across the pond towards the place where he had taken that mute, shaking child into his arms, had covered those same eyes so that they would no longer see. He remembered, and Ryuuki didn't. "I didn't," he said, to the child who had become a man, and turned back to face him. "I didn't kill her. But I would have."

Was it child or man who dropped his gaze to his cup on the table? "I've thought about it, but I didn't think . . . it must have been someone. But there was no reason. Mother wasn't liked, but she was powerless. She was too insignificant even to have enemies."

"She was hurting you."

"I wasn't--"

"She was hurting you, and it was getting worse," Seiran continued, grimly. "If it had continued like that . . . she would have done you permanent harm. She might have killed you. I couldn't allow that. It would have been easy . . . but in the end, someone beat me to it."

"There was no reason," Ryuuki repeated, almost to himself. "Why? Why would anyone--"

"I wonder sometimes," Seiran traced the rim of his cup with a fingertip. "You know, I never found out who arranged my exile . . . I was playing against someone. Chichiue knew, but who was it? Maybe I was just an obstacle in someone else's path. The way everything has turned out, I wonder . . . perhaps, after all, it was all because someone had already chosen you."


	14. Sestina: to thaw the frost of years

Author's Note: This was written in response to one of the challenges on the saiunchallenge livejournal community. It's . . . overly poetic, and more than a little strange. The answer to most of your questions is yes, I meant to do that. I included poetical references at the end because I'm a huge geek like that, but they're not at all essential to the story, merely things that were in my mind while writing, and which are thus connected to the text. Yes, I know that this is not a sestina. I'll explain the bizarre workings of my mind where this is concerned if asked, but do you really want to know?

* * *

The tower was, impossibly, white stone, without windows or doors. Its fancifully curled roof trees were the grey-white of the luminous moon, and the many phases spangled the back-arching rafters, intertwined with carved vines. The smooth sides were made smoother by a sheen of ice, one that radiated cold and never, ever melted.

He scaled it easily as a cloud passed over the moon. The penetrating freeze of the walls made his fingers ache, made his skin prickle and shudder, but it was nothing to the fire that laced through his blood from where it smoldered, like an ember-flower blooming within the prison of his ribs.

The room at the top was like a garden inside a trellis of white icicles; its priceless flower enthroned and chained at its heart. He knelt at her feet, and the silver chains melted away like snow from the spring sun, leaving him holding the treasure of a delicate ankle in the rough palm of his hand.

He looked up at her, not knowing as he did so that his eyes had changed from blood-red to fire. "Will you come away with me?"

The first time she had laughed at him, and called him a mad fool. This time she laughed at him, removed her foot from his possessive hands, and raised him up. "You're a mad fool," she told him, and allowed him with amused, queenly condescension to take her in his arms.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The buildings and walls that bounded the garden were earthly, dusty red. The fruit trees wore their bound straw coats with ponderous dignity, bedded down for the winter. There was no snow, but the waterfall among the rocks was a frozen floe, the pond a mirror edged in white gilt ferns. The brown and brittle stems and leaves were rimed with it, and even the gravel of the path was frosted silver in the moonlight.

He found her in a hidden bower, surrounded by twining vines. She never seemed to feel the cold, but he draped the extra robe he carried around her shoulders anyway, and his arms around that. Her hair against his cheek was cold and smooth.

"You should come inside," he said. "It's freezing."

"I wanted to listen to the flowers one last time," she said.

Tongues and feathers of ice adorned the curled brown leaves where they dangled, dry and empty of life. "They'll bloom again in the spring," he said, as if she needed the comfort of his words.

"They're not dead, silly. Look." She reached and broke off a silver-traced, desiccated stem, closed it in her fingers, and blew gently into the gap between her thumbs. When she opened her hands, petals bloomed like fire in the cage of her ivory fingers.

He breathed out, a momentary white cloud in the still air. "Beautiful."

She twined his fingers around the green stem of the rose, then turned in his arms and laid a hand on his chest. "For you," she said, easily drawing his face down to her. "Since this is the last time."

Her breath frosted his lips with warmth just before she kissed him, and his heart kindled in its cage underneath her hand.

* * *

**References:**

**"What would I give" by Christine Rossetti**

What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,  
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do;  
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.

What would I give for words, if only words would come;  
But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb:  
O, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say.

What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears,  
To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years,  
To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again.

**"The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" by Christopher Marlowe**

Come live with me, and be my love,  
And we will all the pleasures prove  
That valleys, groves, hills and fields,  
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,  
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks  
By shallow rivers, to whose falls  
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,  
And a thousand fragrant posies,  
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,  
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool  
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,  
Fair lined slippers for the cold,  
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,  
With coral clasps and amber studs,  
And if these pleasures may thee move,  
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing  
For thy delight each May-morning;  
If these delights thy mind may move,  
Then live with me, and be my love.

**From the "Song of Songs," 2:8-10.14, 16; 8:6-7**

My beloved spake, and said unto me,  
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.  
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  
The flowers appear on the earth,  
the time of the singing of birds has come,  
and the voice of the turtledove is hear in our land.  
The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom;  
they give forth fragrance.  
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.  
Let me see you,  
let me hear your voice,  
For your voice is sweet,  
and you are lovely.

Set me as a seal on your heart,  
as a seal on your arm;  
For stern as death is love,  
relentless as the nether world is devotion;  
its flames are a blazing fire.  
Deep waters cannot quench love,  
nor floods sweep it away.


	15. Reflection

**Author's Note: **This was also written an age ago, for one of the Christmas exchanges on the saiunkoku_fic comm. My request was for something set in the time of the first Emperor. There are no overt spoilers, but I did drop in a few references to the current Saiunkoku storyline. And I included just about everything we know about the original Emperor. But I wonder how many people will know who "Yousei" is, since his first name is only mentioned once in the series . . . by Sa Eiki, which hopefully is enough of a hint.

As with "Fool's Paradise," my apologies for the improvised divider.

**xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx  
**

The moon caught in the waters of the garden pond was bright and full, like a smooth silver plate floating motionless in the still water. At an angle, sparks of cold light seemed to flare from its curved rim, darting out among the trees that grew nearby and illuminating patches of the formal gardens. The roses were young, but still sported brave, small flowers that floated like smaller moons in the dark, climbing their supports.

Sou Gen had ordered the creation of the garden even before early work on the palace was done. Every line was completed precisely to his specifications, from the grove of bamboo to the stones that had been brought from every corner of the nation he'd forged. Even the pitch of the arches of the moon-viewing pavilion were built according to his plan. When he was in the field, mud on his boots and blood on his blade and the scent of terrors heavy in the air, when he most longed for haven, for rest-- it was this garden that he pictured in his mind, not the red-walled buildings rising around it. The garden he had made as a gift for the one who would soon be leaving him.

He waited, listening, until the last lingering notes of the erhu became part of the still night. Then he followed the long branch of the corridor, counting the columns as he passed-- twenty-eight slim red trunks, and then he reached his heart.

She gazed out over the pond to the plants of the garden, the spires of granite that spiked against the round trees like a sword among the softness, gleaming in the night. Its reflected radiance was the same shade as her pale hair, loose and unbound at this late hour. It made her seem younger, somehow, vulnerable as she'd never been, bringing more curve to the angles of her body. She was a handsome woman, her face too like his own for beauty, but her eyes were only hers-- deep blue, eyes for drowning in. Eyes that _saw_, and he wondered what she looked at when she gazed over the garden, her hands rough with sword-callus relaxed on the delicate wood of the erhu's bow.

She knew he was there, of course. But her silence could be as encompassing as water, and he felt like a stone dropped into the stillness of the pond. The water would splash, and the ripples multiply and spread farther and farther out until they were consumed by the depths, and the water returned to mirror-smoothness again. It disturbed him and always had; she seemed so far from him, unknown and unknowable, looking into a world so far removed from him that he could not even imagine it.

"But you built it," she said to him, calmly, in her rough voice he'd been told was very nearly his own-- this didn't make sense to him, it was nothing like how his own voice sounded in his ears. She always laughed when she heard him say that, and he smiled because it was impossible to be cross at her, his other half. "The only reason I can look so far is because you're in everything that I see. It's always been that way."

"Don't tell me," he growled, folding his arms on the railing. "I don't want to know. It's creepy."

"Aw, why not? You don't want to know about your kids? How about your great-granddaughter? Takes after you with the demons, although I'd say she's a lot prettier than you are. There's another great-great-something son along the way that I find interesting, or a certain set of brothers who get up to the most amusing antics, not to mention their children--"

"I did say that I didn't want to know, didn't I?" He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "And what about your children? Do you see them?"

"No, and I never have," she said cheerfully. "It's better this way, anyhow, I'd rather be surprised. Will they look like me, or like Yousei? I wouldn't mind a son or two with hair like yours, though, you have such nice hair. It would be rather strange if they were to glow, but Yousei tells me--"

"Can we not talk about him? He doesn't get you until tomorrow; let the bastard wait his turn."

"Brother . . ." she sighed. "You two are going to have to put this rivalry of yours aside eventually, you know. It's foolish, especially when he will swear his oath to you tomorrow after the ceremony."

"Considering that I've bought his loyalty with the most precious thing I have, I'm still not sure it's worth it." Sou Gen set his jaw and fixed his eyes on the moon's serene face. "I don't need him. I built this country without him, I could keep it without him."

"No, you wouldn't. You'd have to fight for it, every day of your life, and in the end you would lose it all. I've seen that, too, you know. Do you think I could bear to let it come to pass? Do you think I could stand to see you die, and know that your death was on my hands? And that all the dreams we've shared for so long would go to dust and ashes? No, and no."

"I don't care," he said tightly. "I would choose that, and choose it freely, rather than sell you away from me. If you would only change your mind, I would undo this fool's bargain with a sword. I would not have you go against your own heart."

"Fortunate indeed that my heart and the path to the future are in perfect alignment, then," she grinned at him, just for the delight of making him work to maintain his scowl. "It is perhaps the greatest irony of all that the two men I love in all this world can't stand each other, but I guess it's only to be expected. The both of you would rather eat live scorpion-demons before you'd agree on anything."

"I love you," he said, "far more than I hate that bastard, loathe as I am to admit it. I'd only do this for you."

"He told me the exact same thing when I told him the price of my hand in marriage," she chuckled. "Maybe you two hate each other because you're far, far too alike."

"We have nothing in common."

"You have everything in common." She set aside the instrument and took his arm, and he grumbled and let her. "And his oath to you is my present to you both, the best one I can give. To you I give a nation, a dynasty that will endure through the ages, just as you've always dreamed. And to him I give a future, something to keep him going long after I've died."

"I never asked you for that," he said, twining his fingers through hers. They were long and fully as strong as his; he had held them since before the battles had begun, when they had slept together in their cradle and dreamed their first dreams. "I never asked anything from you, ever. Only your heart."

"You've always had that, and you always will. You're just going to have to learn how to share, is all."

He couldn't help but let a smile crack through. Only a small one, but it was her victory and she knew it. "I'm not very good at sharing."

"Yes, I know. It's one of your many flaws. Makes you a good Emperor, though." They were of a height, and now they saw the same thing when they looked out over the garden that was the heart of them both. "I'm not very good at sharing, either, but then I've had longer to get used to it."

He looked at her sidelong, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You'll find out tomorrow. And I'll get to laugh at you for the five years you're going to spend choking on your pride, and say 'I told you so' every single day."

"I've changed my mind," he muttered. "Giving that bastard your hand in marriage is excellent revenge for all the pain and suffering you've both caused me."

"And will continue to cause you for the rest of your life," she agreed.

"Good," he said. "You'd better."


	16. Welcome Home

**Author's Note: **I'm running out of snippets to post here again. I've been briefly saved by the fic battle that was held on the saiunkoku_fic livejournal community, but I only wrote four fragments for that . . . and of those, one is of a severely questionable nature, another would require me to up the rating on this cycle of short fics significantly, and yet another is a part of my HEA cycle of fics, and so will not be posted in Forgotten Works when it does finally go up. This is the only one that fits here, and was written for this prompt: _Shuuei & Shusui - welcome back. _Which means it contains mild spoilers through season 2 of the anime . . . or rather, it won't make much sense unless you've seen through season 2 of the anime.

And hey, look, the divider is back!

_

* * *

  
_

Shuuei was in the middle of a sparring bout with his lieutenant when a flash of blue off to the side caught his attention. And then he had to look because surely it couldn't be-- that couldn't be _Shusui_ standing at His Majesty's side on the edge of the practice grounds?

In the next second his sword went flying in a classic disarm that hadn't worked on him in years, and his sparring partner's sword connected with his side hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

Even all the way across the practice ground, even doubled over gasping for air, he could still see her roll her flawless eyes.

His Emperor was a kind man, but his schemes had a way of going awry. That, and Shuuei had never once managed to look impressive in front of Shusui anyway.

He made a careful but hurried visit to the garrison bath house before he went looking for her, and finally found her walking down one of the outdoor corridors leading to the residential buildings. He paused, hidden behind a column, covertly watching her as she paused to examine some late-blooming peonies and trying to figure out how best to approach her.

"I know you're there, Ran-shogun," she said, and her words had the same edge that he remembered from when she'd spoken to him in the past.

He had always known she was no ordinary woman; now he knew just how extraordinary she was. Foolish of him to forget it. He disentangled the branch that had somehow developed a hold on his damp hair and came to stand beside her. "I am no longer a member of the Ran family," he said.

"Names, families-- all they bring is trouble," Hyou Shusui murmured. "And what should I call you, then, if not that?"

A half-hundred flippant, smooth, charming answers sprang to mind, but not a single one he wanted to give to this woman. "Shuuei," he said finally, plainly, inelegantly. "Just Shuuei would be good."

"'Just Shuuei'-shogun, then," she said, glanced at his face, and quickly looked away. "Shuuei," she said, more softly, relenting.

He smiled, and not the easy smile with which he tumbled women into and out of his bed, but the smile that he had found when all he'd been was stripped from him, the one he'd first discovered watching a ghost dancing the shape of his heart beneath the moon. "Welcome back," he said, and, "Shusui."


	17. Winter Nights

Author's Note: Yes, I'm embarrassed by how sappy this is. But everyone should know right now that I have a bad case of winter moe. Cozy fires, bulky sweaters, scarves, steaming mugs, clear nights, softly falling snow . . . mmhm. You're lucky if this is the worst that comes of it. Well, the OTP needs more love anyway, so I won't apologize any more! This was written for the saiun_challenge community over on livejournal. Do drop by and join the fun!

* * *

The window beside the bed was open. Through it Shuurei could see the gardens, glazed silver and sparkling under a hard frost. The night was crystal clear and stunningly silent, the moon a bright bow among a thousand stars. Nothing beyond the window moved, and the frigid air made her hyper-aware of the places it touched her skin. It made her feel brushed and burnished, more real than she'd ever been. Aware, too, of the places where the cold didn't reach; of Ryuuki's body half on top of her, his head resting heavy in the hollow of her shoulder. Between them the heat lingered, even more intense where they touched. It felt as if a fire had been banked somewhere deep and low inside of her. She could feel each of his breaths on the sensitive skin of her chest, warm and timed to the diminishing thunder of her heart.

"Shuurei?" he stirred, and she felt the shift of muscles, silken-smooth, beneath her hands. "Are you cold?"

"No." She cradled his head to her breast, reveling in the contrast between the cool, smooth outer strands of his hair and the fine, soft ones warm against his scalp. "This is perfect."

* * *

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda


	18. Snow On Willows

Author's Note: This was written for the excellent Cairnsy for the Secret Santa exchange that took place over on the saiunkoku_fic livejournal community (you can find a link to the community in my profile). Kouyuu is not a character that I usually write for, but I hope I pulled him off decently. This is based off of events that occurred in the novels, beyond the time frame of the anime, so it might be unfamiliar territory for many. If you want novel summaries, do a google search for the yuzutea blog: Worldserpent from livejournal archives her summaries there. You Shuu does show up in the anime, but not until second season, and the details of his history with Kouyuu aren't mentioned. Although I took certain liberties with what is known about their relationship anyway, in order to fulfill Cairnsy's request.

*

* * *

*

It was as if a sucking blackness had opened up at his feet, spreading in an instant to the horizons that hadn't existed in Kouyuu's jail cel, consuming the whole of the world. It took away everything, the faces and voices of his friends, the walls, the ceiling, even the light. It took away his sense of up and down-- he thought he was falling, but he wasn't sure, because he felt nothing, had nothing to refer to in this nothing.

He closed his eyes-- did he close his eyes? He couldn't feel whether he had or not, and it made no difference to the impenetrable black around him. _I closed my eyes. I had the thought of closing my eyes, and I closed my eyes._ And then he opened the eyes of his memory, to begin his life anew.

* * * * * * * * * *

_Follow the birds, follow the birds._

Easier said than done. Kouyuu gritted his teeth and hung on to the rough vines of the bridge, the single woven strand that served as a footpath swaying and trembling under his feet. This was supposed to be a journey through his memories, but he definitely didn't remember going over any bridges like this. He stared down at the clouds far below his feet-- he would have remembered going over this kind of bridge, surely, the intense sense of vertigo could not be mistaken. Since there didn't seem to be any set destination on this journey, aside from "consciousness," then why did he have to go over the bridge at all? Just who in the hells had decided that this was the proper way to go?

One of the finches chirped irritatingly at him from where it perched at the end of the bridge. It was the very same one that had spoken to him with Shuuei's voice earlier, bringing up a whole lot of things that he didn't want to remember, just to annoy him. And some that he did want to remember, but it wasn't like he was going to admit it, and certainly not to _Shuuei_. Even in a magically-induced coma he couldn't escape that man, it was infuriating.

Really, there was nothing he would like more than to pull that blasted finch's tailfeathers out and stuff them into its irritating, chirping beak. With that goal in mind, suddenly the bridge didn't seem as bad. He set his eyes on the bird and marched towards it deliberately, one step after another. A few more strides-- one more stride-- on the last step he lunged for the bird, but it sprang upwards just ahead of his grasping fingers, leaving him to stumble--

--into the snow. But a long-fingered hand caught his shoulder and steadied him until he found his footing again. "Careful there."

"Thanks," he said gratefully, tucking his chilled hands back into his sleeves. Maybe this was just a memory, but it was a cold one. He glanced around the winter garden around him-- it had once been familiar, since it had been the one closest to the boarding house where he'd stayed for a time, doing some extra study during his early days as an official.

"Do you remember the way?" You Shuu asked from beside him, and Kouyuu glanced at his mentor out of the corner of his eye. But no, this was the same as the one in his memory, his hair only one color and drawn up behind his head in a much more normal style.

"I don't know what you want to show me," he said, though of course he did know, he remembered this.

"Are you sure?" the other man swept a branch aside, and Kouyuu ducked under it. On the other side was the small creek that had been diverted through the park, artfully arranged with a stand of bamboo on the other side. On the near bank, with low branches sweeping the surface of the stream, a willow stood obscured under a soft burden of snow . . .

"Like brushstrokes on clean paper," Kouyuu said, awed all over again by the simple, elegant beauty of the scene that stood before him once again.

It wasn't a surprise when arms came up around him, not hurrying, and yet he almost tripped anyhow. Turned his face up more by instinct than anything else, and savored again the chance to learn something new-- a gentle, teaching kiss, one that held for longer than it should have.

Warm hands gripped his wrists, then slid up his arms, bringing the ends of their hanging sleeves together. "Do you remember what happened next?"

"That wasn't the way it happened," Kouyuu protested, and glanced around for the birds. "And there's someone else, now--"

"This is only a memory," You Shuu reminded him, and smiled his rare, patient smile.


	19. Firstborn

Author's Note: Hm, it's been a little while, hasn't it? I really ought to do better with posting things. Anyway, this is another fic written for the saiunkoku_fic community on livejournal, for their fic battle. Sharing the prompt will spoil the story, so I won't, but . . . for some reason I never seem to pick the easy ones. It seems that my muse rarely takes the predictable path, either . . .

* * *

Jyuusan's world was pain, and had been for as long as she could remember. It could have been hours, it could have been days. But she couldn't recall a time when it hadn't hurt.

Women came and went, wiped the sweat from her brow, said soothing words that had no meaning. Two doctors prodded her swollen, rippling belly and consulted between her legs. Embarrassment took energy she no longer had. So did screaming-- all she could manage were hoarse, awful groans that punctuated exhausted gasps for air.

Some distant, vague part of her brain wished that she could just die already.

"Once more," someone whispered in her ear.

She spent the last of her voice on a tearing shout-- she felt like a rag being wrung out, every abused muscle in her body pushing _down _and _out_. Something ripped inside of her, and she felt a hot rush of liquid between her legs-- and something else, something hard and heavy and far too big that left her feeling empty, sucked dry. Her hands released slowly from their death grip on the sheets. Someone was gently kneading her stomach, there was a flurry of voices-- and a sudden, high wailing that seemed to cut right through her head.

It still hurt, deep inside of her, but not as much. She had no more tears, so she couldn't weep with relief. One of the doctors was still fussing over her, but she couldn't tell what he was doing, and his voice kept fading in and out. A woman was cleaning her, drying her face, and then she went away. So did time, for a little while.

"Empress," someone was saying, breaking the blessed quiet. "Empress,you have a fine son."

She opened her eyes. Her head lady-in-waiting stood beside her bed, with a bundle wrapped in purple silk in her arms. She shifted, and within the folds Jyuusan could see a small, scrunched red face with a decent head of wet blackish hair. And his filmy eyes, even unfocused, were a deep, deep blue.

"He looks just like you," the lady-in-waiting said.

The world slowly faded away. _Like me_, was her last thought, _thank all the gods_.

* * *

She drifted in a grey realm of weakness for a long time. Sometimes she woke up to find someone spooning broth and rice between her lips; another time it was a cup of some strange, bitter tea and she coughed it up again, soaking her front. One time she opened her eyes to find a man in purple, with long blond hair and worry written deep over his face, and she moaned and turned away.

Slowly her periods of lucidity grew longer and closer together, though she remained weak-- so terribly weak. But one day she pushed herself upwards against the headboard, startling the servant who was cleaning her rooms, and demanded, "Where is my son?"

"I-- my lady, I don't know, I am just--"

"Then bring me someone who does," Jyuusan snapped, and was surprised that she had enough life within her _to_ snap.

The servant left, and a woman Jyuusan had never seen before came in her stead, sinking down into a deep bow on the thick carpet of the floor. "Your Majesty," she said, "I am glad to see that you're--"

"My son," Jyuusan said, impatient already with the formalities. "Where is he?"

"I-- that is, I believe his father-- that is, His Majesty, at this time of day, they usually go for a walk in the gardens--" the woman was thrown off her stride by the Empress's brusqueness.

The way her stomach had twisted when the lady in waiting had said "his father" did not improve Jyuusan's feelings. "Dress me," she demanded imperiously, and the woman obeyed.

* * *

Just the act of walking out into the private garden took more energy than she would have believed, and she had her doubts about whether she would make it a time or two. It seemed like forever before her ears picked up a familiar voice, talking softly . . . and longer before she heard the wordless noises of response that clawed at her heart.

She steadied herself against a tree to watch, hungrily. There was the Emperor, sitting on the bench beside the river, still wearing his heavy court robes and high golden crown. On his knee he held her son-- no longer the red-faced newborn she had glimpsed so briefly but a fat, bright child clothed in lavender, with a head of dandelion-fluff dark hair. The boy made gurgling sounds and waved his tiny arms as Ryuuki teased him with one of the long tassels from his crown, his blue-- thank the heavens-- blue eyes tracking the bright gold and purple back and forth.

"You really shouldn't be up already, but I'm glad you're feeling better," Ryuuki said without turning around. "The doctors say that now that you're out of danger, you should be your old self again in a few weeks."

Sneaking up on him was impossible even when she wasn't depending on a tree's support every five yards. "What was wrong with me?"

"You were already weak from the hard pregnancy, and during the delivery-- well, I don't understand it myself, really. Something went wrong, and poisons that are usually kept separate in the body were released into your channels. Doctor Toh can explain it better than me. But-- what a wonder you've made!" He turned to her with a smile blinding in its brilliance; she felt as if it burned her, as if it shone through her like she was glass. "Come and meet your son."

She came to him on unsteady legs, and sank down on the bench hoping that it didn't look like the controlled fall it was. Ryuuki was supporting the baby with both hands. "I named him Shokan," he said, "I hope you don't mind-- there was no way to discuss it with you. Shokan, Shokan, this is your mother. Can you say 'mother?' Actually he doesn't talk yet, not for real. But he's already trying, look--" he bounced his knee gently, and the infant made a delighted gurgle, his tiny mouth opening and closing as he waved his hands in the air.

"Shokan," she said, pleased that her voice didn't catch. She captured one waving fist and it opened so that tiny fingers could curl around her much larger one. Immediately the baby brought it to his mouth and chomped on it with soft gums. "He doesn't have any teeth."

"Not yet," Ryuuki laughed. "Good thing, I swear he puts everything in his mouth. Would you like to hold him? Here--" Before she could reply he guided her hands under Shokan's arms, then looped his long arm around her and covered her hands with his own, and did most of the work of lifting the baby from his lap to hers. Nor did he withdraw afterwards, and she gratefully leaned back into the support of his body. Shokan was a warm, precious weight on her leg, reaching curiously for one of the free strands of her hair, dark as his own.

"You know," she said, conversationally. "You know he isn't yours."

He paused a long and terrible moment, and she wished that she had died after all. "Yes, I know," he said. "I've known all along. But no one else must ever find out-- you know that as well as I do. We're lucky that he looks so much like you."

"Where is he?" she asked softly, glad that she couldn't see Ryuuki's face. "Where is Seiran?"

"I sent him away," the Emperor said. "We talked about it-- it seemed the best thing to do. The best way to protect you-- all three of you. Perhaps . . . perhaps in a few years he'll be able to return. If it's safe."

She heard the sadness in his voice, gusting through the emptiness in her heart, and knew that she was the cause. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm so sorry."

"No," he said, sounding almost stern, "You must not be sorry. 'Sorry' means regretting Shokan's existence, and that you must never do. He is a joy, a treasure, and he deserves all of your love." His voice went low. "And I'm happy for you-- for both of you. Fate has dealt all of us an unkind hand, hasn't it? But you two managed to snatch a little bit of happiness back, and I'm glad. Even if it didn't last . . . but happiness never does. And now we have Shokan."

She turned her head so she could wipe her tears on the smooth silk of his robe. "Now we have Shokan."

It was also a question, one that he understood. "I will make the same vow to you that I made to my brother," he said. "That I will look on this boy as my own son, treat him as my own son, love him as my own son. In all things he will be as my own son-- he _is_ my own son. I will protect and care for him-- and for you. Both of you. Forever."

Shokan chose that moment to squirm, open his mouth, and start wailing. She stared at the suddenly fussy baby in dismayed bemusement, and felt Ryuuki's chuckle. "He's hungry, probably. I'll bring him in to the wet nurse."

Jyuusan shook her head, blushing. "I want to feed him."

He hesitated. "Are you sure? You've been sick a long time-- are you strong enough?"

"He is my-- _our_ son," she said defiantly, and then, ". . . help me?"

He held the baby as she opened her robe with trembling fingers, and helped her guide Shokan to her breast. And continued to hold them both as the baby nursed, supporting them with his protective arm.


	20. Summer Storm

Author's Note: Heh, I no longer remember what it was that I wrote this for, except it was inspired by October Project's Ariel. Beautiful song, by the way. Is it true that no one has written for this idea, for serious? Or am I on crack? Although my natural forgetfulness is more than enough to account for it, I suppose. The existence of this fic should not discourage anyone from trying the idea again! I'm sure someone could do it better than me . . .

* * *

Shuurei would have been home long since, save for a certain assistant to the assistant to the assistant to the Under-secretary who was currently the bane of her existence, and who had minced into her office a mere five minutes before closing to leave a pile of urgent documents on her desk. All of which needed review by the following day.

Which just went to show that the old adage about small men and power was completely true, but in the meantime it didn't make her life any easier. Not to mention the fact that, by the time she was slamming her seal vindictively at the bottom of the last document, it was already dark. And everyone else had long since gone home.

The air was hot and sticky and pressed close despite the open windows of her office; there was no wind to admit. She rose and went to the casement to look up at the dark sky beyond-- and it was dark, with no stars or moon to light it, black as the ink drying in the hollow of her inkstone. It was only when a light pulsed warningly above that she could see the dark, roiling clouds. And only then came the first, warning rumble, distant but threatening, like the first growl of a wolf scenting an enemy.

_This is a purely irrational fear,_ she told herself as her body froze save for her fingers, which spasmed on the wooden frame. _There is no good reason for it, it's just a sound, I am perfectly safe--_

It never mattered, no matter how many times she repeated the words. The fear swept up in an unstoppable wave and threw her down, rolled her under and swept away her logic and even her ability to think in a reaction so primal that she had no defense against it.

"Shuurei?"

And so the sound of another human voice was a lifeline, was the one small light in an all-consuming darkness, the only thing she had. In desperation she threw herself at the source, wrapped her arms around a solid, living, breathing body, and refused to let go. In everything she had asked of him Ryuuki had never once let her down, and now-- now he held her as the thunder went from growl to roar, as the rain lashed down with sudden fury and pounded on the hard tile of the roof, as the wind swept through and scattered her careful stack of documents all over the room.

As suddenly as it had begun the storm tapered off. The anger of the rain slacked to a drizzle, the thunder dropped down to a sheepish rumble, retreating and taking the remorseless humidity with it. It left the two of them huddled in a heap against the side of her desk, Ryuuki's hands rubbing circles on her back, and puddles and paperwork all over the floor of her formerly spick-and-span office.

She lifted her nose out of the open collar of Ryuuki's sleeping robe and tried for some semblance of dignity, which was a bit difficult considering that she was sitting on him, and tears were drying on her face. "Ryuuki, what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," he said meekly, and then more defensively, "and unlike you, I do live here. You work too much."

"I had things to do," she said, and looking around at the wreckage of her office with a sigh, "and now I have more things to do."

"I'll take care of it," he offered, "I'm awake anyway. And I'll get you an escort home. I think the storm is over now."

Where had he learned tact, and when? He wasn't looking at her, his eyes were on the mess of papers and puddles, shuttered against her. He was holding her still, but loosely, rigidly, waiting for her to notice, to help her stand, to let her walk away from him again. The bottom layer of his hair was slightly darker with sweat from the earlier heat. Now it was cooler, but she could feel his hand burning like a brand through the back of her official robes.

Her heart was pounding, but her fear was past. She cupped his face in both hands and kissed him.


	21. After Life

Author's Note: "After Life" is also the English name of a wonderful Japanese movie. This was written in response to a request from the saiunkoku_fic community's annual Secret Santa exchange. The requestor said nothing more depressing than the anime . . . actually I don't think this is depressing at all, and had tremendous fun writing it. I have a thing for snark, what can I say?

* * *

She was dying, but actually that was just fine with her. Her obligations were adequately discharged, and while she had never been one to give up simply because it was easiest, she nonetheless felt that she had given a more than sufficient accounting of herself and she could thus quit the field with honor.

Sa Eiki-- and proud of it, thank you, widow or no she would not give that up-- still had one more barrier to cross prior to finding her well-deserved rest; he stood glowing before her in that featureless place of in-between that she had visited occasionally, the borderland of visions and of death. His vulpine eyes were as difficult to read as always, but she could feel the faint, insufferable smirk that never seemed far from his face coloring the air around him.

"Hyou Eiki," Shou Yosei said gravely, "you are dying."

"Fox bastard," she let him see her teeth, sharp and white when she named him, "I know that, just who do you think I am?"

He studied her. "Indeed. You saw this coming, then."

She snorted and crossed her arms. "Of course not, don't be ridiculous. No seer ever sees her own death; we would never get anything done, elsewise. But there are signs, and needless to say I am not at all surprised."

"You know, then, that the Hyou clan has taken your life."

"They have taken my death," she said severely, "there is quite a difference. My life has belonged only and ever to me."

"Yes," he said, and sighed. "Would you believe that I once thought I would be happy when this day came? The foolishness of youth, when I had thought myself past all such things."

"You are certainly not past _that_," she said, scornful. "You're here, after all. Interfering in things that don't concern you."

"This may seem strange to you, but I find that after having spent a lifetime as your rival, I am no more inclined to give you up than I was him."

"You had _his_ life, and then his death as well. Don't be so greedy."

"Yes, but I _wanted_ his heart."

She tossed her head impatiently. "You will forgive me if I'm not particularly sympathetic."

"I shall do nothing of the sort." He considered her gravely. "I could save you, still."

"You will _not_," Eiki said, horrified.

He sighed. "I will not."

"All right, then," she settled, and let herself look at him-- really look. Yosei carried his centuries lightly, and before her, he never lied or tried to fool her regarding his true appearance. She would have scorned him if he had, not that he would have cared, and for the first time she wondered if perhaps this was actually a gesture of respect on his part. She had never once mentioned his secret to anyone . . . not for any particular reason that she could think of.

Or perhaps her reason was exactly the same. He had chosen to live his life along with her Enjun-- to serve with him, to stay with him, to grow old with him. He had lived a human lifetime, as had she. And now-- Enjun was dead, and she was dying. Soon all those he had known for so long would pass from the earth, and he would remain. Alone.

She brought her fingers swiftly and lightly across his face, and let them stay against his cheek. "I have learned, at this last, that you are a sentimental fool," she said, and gave him the rarest of her gifts-- her smile. "Too bad I'll no longer be able to use it against you."

He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. "I have known, long since, that you are an incomparable woman, exquisite as a piece of jade. I could not have lost to a worthier opponent."

"I'll allow you to call it a draw," she said, primly withdrawing her hand. "We're keeping Enjun waiting, you know."

"I've kept the both of you waiting for a lifetime," Yosei said, returning to his habitual asperity, "I'm certainly not going to start apologizing now."

"See that you don't," she said, and brushed off the skirts of her wedding robes. "I'm an old woman, and I don't take kindly to change."

He smiled, and offered his arm in an age-old, courtly gesture. "May I?"

She adjusted the fall of her black hair-- thick and lustrous-- and graciously laid her long, smooth fingers over his elbow. "I'm ready."


	22. Storm Warning

**Author's Note: **This is absolutely random, which at this point should surprise no one. And now that it's posted, I'm once again out of snippets for this particular story series, at least until the muse takes another whack at me. I was inspired by an image on the art message board of one of my favorite Japanese SaiMono fanartists, d.o.g.s. I'm also not too familiar with Ou Ki's character, so I hope I'm not too terribly off in my depiction. I kept the writing exceedingly spare partially for that reason, and partially because I just like writing that way from time to time. Seeing just how little you can get away with while still crafting a coherent story is a fun exercise. Of course the most famous example is the six-word story attributed to Hemingway-- "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." But I like to answer at least a few more questions than that when I write something. It's important for a writer to have imagination, of course, but it's also important for the writer to skillfully involve the imagination of the reader.

The story is short, the Author's Note is too long. ::amused:: Onward!

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**xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx**

Ou Ki had been closeted with the Emperor, the Imperial Map, and twenty-four volumes of military strategy for hours when a servant knocked on the door. His Majesty didn't even notice, which left it to Ou Ki to open the door.

The servant bowed low. "I bring excellent news. My Lord Emperor is a father."

"Yes," the Emperor said, without looking up from the markers on the map. "It's not news."

The servant opened his mouth once or twice. "That is. Er. Your Majesty has a fine new son."

"Another one?" The Emperor shifted the forces on the right flank, reinforcing their structure. "Has the infantry run drills over rough ground recently?"

"Not lately." Ou Ki took the arm of the servant and indicated the door. "His Majesty is busy at the moment."

The servant looked mildly panicked. "The Sixth Consort sent me to ask about a name for the boy."

"I don't care," said the Emperor. "Ou Ki! Give me your opinion on this."

Ou Ki hurried the servant out of the room and returned to the strategy session.

**xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx**

The stack of documents at his elbow was not in any way diminished after an hour's futile attempt at concentration. Ou Ki gritted his teeth and started at the beginning of the page he was attempting to read-- for the fifth time. He made no better progress than he had before; the steady, high-pitched infant wailing from not far off was going through his head like a saw through green wood. Having an office close to the Inner Palace was a mark of status, but it seemed more like a curse-- right up there with excellent hearing.

With a growl he exited his office and his intractable pile of paperwork. It was a short walk through the gardens to the Inner Palace, and the guards saluted him smartly as he passed through the gate dividing the two. The wailing guided him to the pavilion of the Sixth Consort, and he boldly walked right inside-- no one was at the door to stop him. Indeed, the place seemed empty; even the Consort herself was gone. He found the source of his irritation squalling red-faced in a cradle, tangled in trailing purple wrappings. That color and the feathery blond hair, already a perfect match to the Emperor's, were the only indication of the child's royal parentage.

"Be quiet, can't you?" Ou Ki said to the baby, not unkindly. "Some of us have work to do, you know."

The baby took no notice-- hardly surprising, as it seemed to be putting all the force its tiny body could muster into its crying. With a sigh he picked the infant up-- which apparently shocked the child so much that its wailing slacked off immediately. It even stopped waving its little fists in the air, and started trying to look at him with bleary infant eyes of disturbing and familiar golden-brown.

"Better," Ou Ki said, "Gods. As if being ordered around by one of you wasn't enough. You're a Shi for sure."

He settled into a chair with the baby on his lap, and it spent some time attempting to catch hold of his greying beard with tiny fingers. Fortunately not a long time; worn out from the effort of its long crying, the child was soon asleep in the crook of his arm. Ou Ki stared at it, so peaceful, and thought of unimportant things-- his hatred towards his Emperor, the weather, what it was like to be a father, whether he preferred weak or strong tea, the future.

He was still sitting there when one of the palace women finally entered. She had clearly been expecting the baby and not a grown man as well, because she stood there gaping at him like a landed fish. "Take him, will you?" Ou Ki ordered irritably and softly. "I'm fairly sure that's your job and not mine."

She hurriedly did as he asked, handling the child with an utterly impersonal competence to avoid waking him. "My apologies, my lord. I was detained."

"I see. Detained. For three hours." He stood, and noticed in his joints the murmur that would someday become a full-fledged protest. "What is the Prince's name? I missed the announcement."

She gave him a flatly unfriendly look as she returned the baby to his cradle. "He has none. The Sixth Consort says it is up to His Majesty to name him."

Ou Ki stared hard at the sleeping infant, remembered its slight warm weight against his body, the pressure of the fragile head on his arm, the strange faint way his chest had ached. He had no son. "Ryuuki," he said at last. "His Majesty has decided to call him Ryuuki."

The woman's smug smile irritated him. "The Consort will be pleased," she murmured. "I'll tell her."

He turned his back on her, abruptly disgusted with the whole scene. "See that the Prince does not disturb my work again," he said.

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End file.
